


Talking Body

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: Angst, Dreaming, F/F, Heavy Angst, Loneliness, Prison, fantasising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: One night in solitary Debbie closes her eyes and fantasises about the partner she left on the outside.





	Talking Body

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FiJPn7icnJY
> 
> Semi-inspired by this, didn't quite go how I thought it would.

The bed is hard and uncomfortable, but Debbie's had five years of practice at falling asleep on it. The cell is a little on the cold side, and it's cramped, but she's always preferred solitary really. Something about growing up with an older brother and people with a relaxed attitude to ownership can make a girl protective of her own space. It's not that she can't hear the noises of the prison from in here, but they're comparatively muffled and at least she's not sharing. A lot of the women in here are in situations best described as 'complicated', and although she has sympathy for them they live in different worlds, and Debbie prefers escaping into her own head to listening to her cellmate sobbing over any of the million things that went wrong to lead her here. It isn't pity exactly, but Debbie knows exactly what she did that led her here, was fully aware of the potential consequences of her actions, and now she's reaping what she sowed. 

She has complications of her own to worry about, and on nights like this when she's sinking deep into her own mind, getting lost in her own head without anyone to pull her out of it, she has plenty of time to dwell on her mistakes. She's always been a planner, had it drummed into her the importance of details and covering all the angles, and part of what went wrong with Claude is that she left some of the angles to someone else and didn't read the fine print. The price for that mistake was higher than six years in prison with time off for good behaviour though, and it's nights like this when that price aches in her like a whole body bruise. 

Everyone has fantasies that keep them warm on cold nights, and if asked, Debbie knows she could come up with a few. She has some for every occasion, every audience, with different degrees of honesty. She could come up with a fantasy man, someone anyone would understand, at a push she could even make it sound like she fantasised about doing something with Claude Becker that didn't involve covering him in honey and staking him out over an ants' nest. And that was just for starters. If she felt like being a little more honest, the hot guy would morph into a hot girl, maybe a brunette, maybe a redhead... really a blonde. 

Debbie shifts, rolling over onto her side to stare unseeing at the wall because there's no way she'd admit to anyone, or at least to the kind of person who'd ask that question, that the person she dreams about when she can't relax is Lou Miller. Sometimes it's harder not to think about the blonde the second she closes her eyes than it is to deliberately try to conjure up memories. Tonight, though, she's tired, and if she's honest with herself she doesn't want to resist. 

If she closes her eyes she can feel the mattress dip, and a hand resting on the small of her back. She knows Lou's hands better than she knows the backs of her own, knows how they feel on her skin, and she can imagine a kiss pressed behind her ear, nuzzled into her hairline as Lou's fingers slide up under her shirt and splay over her ribs. Her breath is warm and her voice is husky as she leans closer to breathe over Debbie's ear. 

"You miss me, beautiful?"

Debbie bites her tongue and presses her face into the pillow, screaming yes inside her head because /fuck/ this is the part that hurts the most, knowing that she fucked this up. She'd always known Claude was never worth it, but the way her subconscious reminds her every time she closes her eyes is starting to get old, and yet she can't stop, like poking at a loose tooth with your tongue for that little shock of pain. 

In her mind, Debbie rolls over and presses her face against Lou's stomach through the fabric of her t-shirt. It's warm and soft and it smells so good. She can feel Lou laugh more than she can hear it, a fond chuckle as familiar fingers comb through her hair, gently scritching her scalp, and Debbie keeps her eyes pressed closed because she doesn't need to open them to know what Lou looks like, and because the moment she opens them the spell will shatter and she just wants to hold on to this for a few moments longer. 

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

"You know I never really sleep without you there."

"Mmm... true, but you looked comfortable. I was trying to be quiet."

"More comfortable with you here."

"Is that so? Well, be patient a little while longer and I'll get changed."

"You needn't bother."

That earns her another chuckle and if she really focuses Debbie can feel Lou's laughter on her skin when she's this close. There's a kiss pressed to her temple and a hint of Lou's perfume where she leans in and Debbie inhales it, wanting to hold on to the scent as long as she can before it fades. 

Lou shifts back, but Debbie can feel her there still, hear the soft rustling of her stripping out of her jeans and t-shirt, jacket hung neatly up on the back of a chair. Her jewellery clinks and clatters and there's plenty of it but the sound is soothing, the sound of Lou's armour coming down. There's plenty of that, and it hadn't taken Debbie long at all to realise just how precious it was to be let past that, in the old days before she'd demonstrated just how unworthy she was of that trust. 

The mattress dips again and Debbie can feel the warmth radiating from Lou's body all the way down, knows without opening her eyes just what that looks like, Lou stretched out like a goddess in a black crop top and shorts, pale skin and bright eyes and limbs that go on forever, grinning at Debbie like she's something to be happy about, something to be proud of. In her mind, the kiss they share is lazy because there's no need for hunger. 

Desire is something different, and sometimes that's where Debbie's mind goes. Claude was like most men, convinced of his superiority far out of proportion to his actual talent, and not even capable of putting that clever tongue to better use. Lou could play her like a cheap piano from their first night together, and sometimes that heat is what she needs, burning hot enough to scorch, enough to remind her that she is /wanted/ because being wanted is almost like being loved. 

On the darkest nights though, being wanted isn't enough and it's fantasies like this that fill her head, fantasies of the way Lou looked at her, the way Lou touched her, kissed her, free and easy and open. It isn't the sex she misses most, it's the afterglow, the way their bodies fit together and Lou would hold her, wrapping around her so close there wasn't a hair of space between them. Claude had never been a cuddler and Debbie hadn't felt like fighting for it because when that mess started she'd been half playing a role, moulding herself into what he wanted so he would take her along for the ride. Yet another mistake really. The only person who never asked her to change, who accepted her as she was with all the ugly parts, all the flaws and bruises and insecurities was Lou and on nights like this the bile burns the back of her throat at the thought of what she threw away. 

With her face buried in the pillow, the lights go out in her cell and Debbie Ocean clenches her jaw, pressing her eyes shut tighter still as the tears leak out around the edges and soak into the pillow because she's not quite ready to blink the fantasy away just yet. She just curls her fingers into the rough sheets, knuckles going white and chokes on sobs she's trying to swallow down because weakness is a thing that happens to other people and Oceans never cry.


End file.
